


Bottles of Wine

by Typing_is_the_new_writing



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Confessions, Drunk!Sherlock, F/M, Fluff (I guess), Johnlock -freeform, Love Notes, M/M, some angst idk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 23:20:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4281840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Typing_is_the_new_writing/pseuds/Typing_is_the_new_writing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John gets Sherlock a bottle of wine every month and Sherlock drinks it all and confesses a love note to John<br/>John finds the stash of bottles  TIMELINE: John is living at Mary's and Sherlock roped John into doing errands for him<br/>Thank you and enjoy</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bottles of Wine

John walked into 221B Baker Street, grocery bag in hand.  
"Did you get the milk?" Came from a sleepy detective, currently resting on the sofa in the sitting room.  
"Well, yeah, considering you never do it," John answered, snark still very much apparent. "And what have you been up to, o brilliant genius?"  
"I've been bored," came the muffled reply.  
"Oh, John, dear, welcome back!" Mrs. Hudson greeted.  
"Hello, Mrs. Hudson"  
"He's been a NIGHTMARE, you know, after all this time. I've had to check in every five seconds to make sure he doesn't shoot the wall!"  
"No you haven't," emerged a petulant reply from the world's finest and singular consulting detective.  
"Yes I have, young man. Honestly, the things I do..." She rambled on, quite fed up.  
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Hudson. However, I'll take this shift and you can go back to your own business."  
Murmuring somewhat self satisfiedly, Mrs. Hudson took her leave.  
"Did you also get the wine?" Sherlock inquired.  
"Yes, but I haven't the faintest why you want it. Mind telling me?" He asked as he put away the newly-gotten.  
"An experiment."  
"Yes, well, I figured as much. Anyway, I'm going to head off now, goodbye."  
"Wait. Can you please make me tea?"  
"Sherlock, you're a grown adult. You can make your own tea, y'know." John sighed, already heading to the kitchen.  
After completing his task, John placed a teacup and saucer in front of Sherlock. "There. Now, I'll be going."  
As soon as the door closed, Sherlock got up. "John?" He called expectantly.  
After receiving no reply, he got up from his spot on the sofa and grabbed the bottle of red wine he'd asked John to get. It was nothing fancy, just the cheap kind from Tesco.  
With a flourish, Sherlock popped the cork and poured the deep liquid into a glass.  
As a kind of coping mechanism for John not being there, Sherlock would drink himself silly and leave a note for the army doctor in the empty bottle.  
It had taken him too long to realise, but he had developed a bond of emotion and sentiment for John. Only now, it was too late to get to him.  
Sherlock had tried to divorce himself from the emotion completely, so as soon as he woke up the next morning, he would re-cork the bottle and hide it amongst the other letters in bottles.  
The system did work, at least. 

 

So it was no surprise when, after thoroughly draining the wine bottle, Sherlock found himself with a pencil and paper. He scribbled a message on it just before passing out:  
Dear John,  
I wish to tell you that this loneliness is beginning, no, been hard to bare. I don't really think I am a sociopath, John. I just was rejected by people so much I convinced myself I didn't want them, either.  
John, I think I am jealous. Jealous of that Mary. Sure she's cleverer than most, but I want you. She gets to have you as much as she wants, and all I can do to see you is to recruit you to get groceries.  
I want you, John. I am in love with you.  
I'm so sorry about the fall. I only did it to save you, but you don't care about that. All you care is that I left you. Well, I DIDNT WANT TO. There were so many things I wanted to do, but that stupid Mycroft forbid them.  
I guess it's all for the best, anyway. I can't even seem to admit my feelings for you in person. I write to the bottles, who keep my secret hidden well.  
With love,  
Sherlock


End file.
